


Atlantic City

by MillicentCordelia



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Prostitution, Prostitution Roleplay, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillicentCordelia/pseuds/MillicentCordelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well now, everything dies, baby, that's a fact<br/>But maybe everything that dies someday comes back<br/>Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty<br/>And meet me tonight in Atlantic City</p><p>(Lyrics by Bruce Springsteen, 1982)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Got Debts No Honest Man Can Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Chronology: takes place after episode 11. Jim is suffering from stress, and Oswald gets curious.

Jim set his suitcase by the door. 

He looked around at Barbara’s once elegant apartment, now a filthy wreck. He still hadn’t figured out how the homeless people- whoever they were-had gotten in and helped trash the place. Nothing had been cleaned or dusted in over a month, and the smell was worse than the locker room in a high school gym. He’d been afraid to get near the kitchen for some time now; there was something growing in the fridge that was threatening to develop consciousness.

Jim had, understandably, been depressed. Barbara had taken a ride on the bipolar express, and left him for Renee. Again. He was still living in Barbara’s apartment, because he was too broke to get his own place. He’d lost his job as a detective, and he worked all day every day in a place that made Dante’s Inferno look like Sunday brunch at the Ritz-Carlton. His after work routine consisted of fast food, drinking too much, and passing out on whichever couch had the smallest pile of dirty laundry on it. He had a vague memory that the previous evening, he’d peed over the side of the patio balcony several times.

He was composing a note for Barbara-in case she came by, for whatever reason-when the front door banged open and there she was. She stopped and looked at Jim. “What? It’s just you? That’s not much of a party, is it?” She walked unsteadily to the bar, wobbling on her high heels. 

“Barbara, it’s Seven AM. Kinda early for a drink, maybe?”

“Hi, Barbara! How’ve you been? Missed you!” She gave him a dirty look as she fixed a drink. “Maybe you could say something like that before you start telling me how to live my life, you self righteous ass. You sound just like Renee. Shame she doesn’t like guys, you two would be a match made in hell.” She downed half her drink in a gulp. “So smug. So much better than everyone else.”

Barbara threw the rest of her drink, glass and all, at a mirror by the front door. Her aim was perfect. Broken glass flew over the foyer.

“There ya go, Saint James. Happy now?” Barbara started to fix another drink. Jim was standing there, looking and feeling helpless, when the front door opened again. It was Oswald Cobblepot. “Yes!” Barbara shouted. She ran over to him and hugged him. “This is my best friend in the whole world!” 

Jim felt like he was hallucinating. Oswald nodded to Jim, and addressed Barbara. “I know you’re tired Barbara, let’s get you tucked in for a nap while we wait for Janelle to get here.”

Barbara looked like she was about to pass out. She let Oswald lead her into the master bedroom; he emerged a few minutes later.

“Out cold. James, I saw Barbara staggering down the sidewalk, so I had my driver stop. Her purse was open, and the contents were spilling out. I coaxed her into the car, and talked her into calling her sister to come get her. Barbara needs to get some rest in a place where she can, um................”

“Dry out? Yeah. Good idea.” Jim looked at his suitcase. “Guess I’ll cancel my trip.”

“Oh? Getting away for the weekend?”

“Something like that. I was gonna leave when I got off work today, and come back Sunday night.” James was profoundly embarrassed for Oswald to see the place looking the way it did. He hadn’t seen Oswald in weeks, and in a few short minutes Oswald had become privy to the wreckage of Jim’s life. 

Oswald looked at Jim with concern. He had dark circles under his eyes, and looked thin in his security guard uniform. “No need to change your plans. I was going to stay here with Barbara until her sister picked her up. By the time you get off work today, Janelle should have Barbara checked into...well, someplace.” 

“Thanks. That makes sense.”

“And, James-I heard about you being reassigned to Arkham. I wanted to tell you-how unfair I think that is, and foolish on the mayor’s part. I can’t imagine it’ll be long before you’re a detective again.”

Sure, Jim thought, thanks for bothering to mention it, not that you went to the trouble to call me or anything. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. Listen, I gotta go to work. Thanks again. ”

Oswald went in to check on Barbara, who was now half conscious and requested something to drink. He brought her some ginger ale, and casually mentioned that Jim was leaving for the weekend. “He’s goin’ to Atlantic City again, I betcha. Every coupla weeks. My folks have a condo there that they hardly ever use. I gave him a key. Jesus, my head hurts.”

“I didn’t know James was a gambler.” Oswald couldn’t imagine why else anyone went to Atlantic City.

“Who the fuck knows what the bastard does.” Barbara rolled over and started snoring. 

Oswald was puzzled. At this time of year, Atlantic City was bleak, dreary, and freezing cold. What was this trip about? He decided it was time to embark upon some serious snooping, and was gratified to find that Jim’s suitcase wasn’t locked. In a zippered compartment, he found a bus ticket-destination, Atlantic City. A brochure for the Pennington Arms, advertising itself as the “only true luxury condos in Atlantic City”, with an address scribbled on it. Two identical access cards- he pocketed one of them. A business card for something called “Danielle’s”: “personal services for discerning ladies and gentlemen.” There was a phone number with an extension written on the back. Oswald wrote down all the info, not knowing yet what he planned to do with it

He was eager to do more snooping, but got delayed by two things: The arrival of Janelle, and the fact that when he approached the guest room Jim was sleeping in, the smell drove him back. It smelled something like a den of weasels; or perhaps, a crate of dead bats. Dear God, how long had it been since James changed the sheets? After Janelle and Barbara left, Oswald called a cleaning service. Barbara, bless the dear girl, had given him a key; and Janelle seemed to take to Oswald immediately. He overheard Janelle say, “Oswald’s a sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re cultivating a better class of friends. Now if we can just find you someone appropriate to date rather than that cop you’ve been shacked up with.” Oswald wasn’t sure if she meant Renee or Jim. Janelle was a bit older than Barbara; a conservative looking, icy blonde whose shoes undoubtedly cost more than several months of Jim’s salary.

While waiting for the cleaning service, Oswald made a call, to the number on the back of the card he’d found. A male voice said, “ Sid’s Escorts, this is Jerry speaking. How may I assist you today?”

An escort service! “Yes, a friend of mine recommended you to me. I’ll be entertaining some out of town friends in Atlantic City two weeks from now. What can you tell me about your services?” It took Oswald a while to extract the information that he considered relevant. Sid’s Escorts were exclusively male; they specialized in 17 different kinds of “massage”; they were highly paid professionals; you could request a specific “type” (height, weight, age, hair color, etc.); and if you wished to reserve time with a specific escort, it was recommended that you do so at least two weeks in advance. Jerry was eager to assure Oswald that the young men they employed were primarily actors, models, and college students.

So there it was-Jim was doing something he wouldn’t dare do in Gotham, for fear of getting caught. Oswald wasn’t shocked, but he was surprised-the idea that Jim was spending weekends with rent-boys just didn’t seem in character, somehow. 

Then again, some people got thrills from “slumming” that they couldn’t get any other way. He’d seen it over and over again when he worked at Fish’s nightclub. There they were, Gotham’s elite; successful, wealthy, “respectable” men with pedigreed wives and gorgeous young mistresses; trolling the seediest parts of town for men who were down and out losers. Fish did a brisk business pimping out ex-cons covered in jailhouse tattoos; deathly pale, ill-looking junkies; and skinny, leathery looking hustlers who didn’t look a day under fifty. At least Jim was using an upscale escort agency that provided young, fit, attractive guys. 

Oswald was dying with curiosity- he wondered what Jim’s type was. He kept telling himself he was better off not knowing, and why did he care anyway-James Gordon was never going to be interested in Oswald, not in a million years, not even as a friend. But, Oswald being Oswald, he soon decided that he just might pay his driver overtime the next day-Saturday-to make the two-hour drive to Atlantic City. 

When Jim got home that evening, he stopped just inside the front door in shock. It looked like magic elves had been at work. The apartment was immaculate, all the laundry had been done, and there was edible food in the fridge. Sitting on a table near Jim’s suitcase,   
was a vase of fresh flowers, and a note. “Brought in a cleaning service; hope that’s all right, I know you’ve been terribly busy. Have a lovely trip. Call me when you get back; Let’s have dinner and catch up. - Oswald.” There was also a phone number. He tore the note to shreds, and threw it away, scowling. He’d rather eat his gun than go crawling to Oswald, begging for attention, after Oswald had ignored him for so long.

Jim sighed. The place looked great, but it wasn’t because of Jim. It was because Oswald and Barbara were somehow becoming friends, and it wasn’t even Jim’s apartment. Jim felt he was like a ghost, passing through a world that belonged to everybody but him. He picked up his suitcase and left.


	2. The Night's Getting Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald decides to be spontaneous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey James is the name of Gotham's mayor; he's the asshat who assigned Jim to Arkham.

Oswald, who usually had a plan for everything, had no plan -and that was so unlike him, it was unnerving. He’d tried thinking it through for the last twenty-four hours, and he still had no plan. 

He’d gotten rooms for himself and his driver at a decent hotel not too far from the Pennington Arms; and then around six that evening, he’d had his driver drop him off. Oswald was dressed, uncharacteristically, in what he hoped was a non-descript look; jeans and a button-down shirt, with a warm jacket. He carried a cane instead of his umbrella. He used the stolen access card to get in through a side entrance, and headed for the lobby- which, like everything else in the place, looked brand new, luxurious, and like it cost a fortune.

He settled down in a spot where he could view the elevators that led to the Kean’s condo, and shook out the newspaper he’d brought; then pretended to be absorbed in the Wall Street Journal. He felt like an idiot; how was he supposed to spot a male escort, and what was he going to do if he thought he did? Walk up to a complete stranger and say, “Hi there, are you a hooker?” Or maybe he should just go up to the Kean’s condo, knock on the door, and say “Hi James, you done with Studly McMuffin yet? Wanna go grab a bite to eat?” Oswald did have the insane idea that if he could “accidentally” encounter the escort, he might be able to pay him off to simply go away. That would leave Jim all alone, and perhaps lonely. Maybe even lonely enough to spend the evening with Oswald. 

Around seven, he was ready to give up and go back to his hotel. This had been stupid, what could he have been thinking? Maybe he could call James tomorrow, claim to have come to Atlantic City on business, and ask if he’d like a ride back to Gotham. Then he looked up and saw something that made him hold his breath. A young man had just pushed the button to go up. He was a dead ringer for Oswald- height, build, hair, everything. He was wearing a dark suit with a vest. 

As quickly as he could, he walked over to the bank of elevators and stood behind the young man. When they got on the elevator, they were the only two there. The doors closed. Oswald turned to the young man. “Excuse me. Can you tell me the time?” When the man looked at his watch, Oswald maneuvered closer. “If you’re keeping an appointment this evening at 713B, we have something to talk about. “

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “Get away from me. Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who’s prepared to make it worth your while to participate in a harmless prank. Take a good look at me. It’s not a coincidence that we look so much alike.”

“Ok, whatever. Talk fast.”

Oswald’s heart beat faster-he’d guessed right. “All you have to do is answer some questions, fail to keep your appointment, and go home. Your employers won’t know what happened. If you’ll do that, this is for you.” Oswald produced an envelope.

The man thumbed through the cash in the envelope and whistled. “This is twice my fee-as a masseur- before Sid’s takes a cut. You got my attention.” He pocketed the envelope.

They got off the elevator; the young man motioned to a stairwell, where they could talk. 

“What name do you know your client by, what sort of services do you provide, and what’s your professional name?”

“ He says he’s Aubrey James. My name’s Blaine.” Upon closer inspection, Blaine was younger than Oswald, and had a round, baby face. “He’s a nice guy. Kinda boring. It’s important that he never sees my face. The bedroom is dark; we do this sort of role-play thing. He ties me up, spanks me, I beg for forgiveness. I’m supposed to pretend to be some guy named Oswald. I get an extra big tip if I cry, so trust me-I cry. It’s not difficult-I’m actually an actor.” Blaine preened. “ The crying is what turns him on, and then he wants his ‘massage’. I’m guessing you’re Oswald, right? Are you his boyfriend?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, it always is. If they find out about this at my job, I’m gonna say Mr. James’ boyfriend showed up unexpectedly and threatened to fuck me up. You guys have a nice evening.” Blaine took off down the stairs.

This was exciting, but also bizarre. It had never once occurred to Oswald that Jim might hire an escort to impersonate him. He wasn’t sure how to process this, and he had no idea what to do next. He decided that he was going to keep acting like a crackhead, and make it up as he went along.

Oswald knocked on the door of the Kean’s condo; then turned his back to the door. He wanted Jim to think, for the moment, that it was Blaine. A few minutes later, the door opened-just a bit. He heard Jim’s voice. “Wait for me to go out on the balcony. Come in and stand facing the fireplace.”

Oswald waited a few minutes, then did as he was told. Out of the corner of his eye, he took in the condo; and he could see, through a bank of windows; Jim was on the balcony, looking at the ocean. He stood at the fireplace, behind a sofa. It had grown dark, and the fire was the only light in the room. Jim walked up behind him. “I’m Mr. James. You’re not who I expected are you?”

“Blaine couldn’t make it. I’m Ron.” Why did he say that? Why didn’t he just tell Jim who he was?

“Did Blaine tell you what your name was supposed to be?”

“Yes. Oswald. He told me what you like.” Well, that was the truth.

He could hear Jim breathing. “Take off your jacket.” Oswald threw his jacket onto a chair. Jim moved closer. Oswald nearly jumped out of his skin when Jim’s hands began to roam over his back. He ran a hand through Oswald’s hair.

“You’re perfect. You even smell perfect. You’re using the cologne I told Blaine about.” Jim put his arms around Oswald’s waist. “Your hair; even better than Blaine’s.” Jim pulled Oswald back, so their bodies were pressed together; nuzzled the back of Oswald’s neck. He unbuttoned Oswald’s shirt and slipped a hand inside. Oswald shivered. He moved the hand down to Oswald’s jeans and unzipped them, sliding his hand in and squeezing gently. “You don’t even want foreplay, do you? You’re already hard.” Oswald let himself lean backwards against Jim. He was startled by how strongly he responded to Jim’s touch. He had imagined it, and wished for it; the reality was overwhelming. “Take off your clothes; sit on the sofa.” Jim turned his back to him.

Suddenly Oswald felt small and vulnerable. He was nude, while Jim was still clothed. Jim had blindfolded himself, with some kind of black scarf. “Don’t forget-I don’t want to see your face.” He moved around to the front of the sofa by touching it, and knelt in the floor in front of Oswald. He started at Oswald’s feet, moving his hands up and pushing his legs apart. He caressed Oswald’s torso, his arms, and moved his hands over Oswald’s face and neck as if memorizing him by touch. 

Oswald moved forward, touching Jim in a similar way, stroking his face and neck. It was strange, but Oswald was enjoying it. Then Jim leaned over Oswald’s lap; gripped his cock, and guided it into his mouth. Oswald’s brain had pretty much shut down by then; he did manage to register the thought that Jim must have been born without a gag reflex. Jim took him in deep, moved him in and out, slicking him so that he could comfortably use his hand around the base while he manipulated Oswald with his mouth. 

Oswald’s experiences with sex had never been memorable. He’d learned in high school how to do things with his mouth that kept the other guys from beating him up quite so often. No one ever offered to reciprocate. He didn’t think much about it, until he met Jim; and then he thought about it a lot.

What he never expected was to be sitting on a sofa, naked, with Jim sucking him off. He’d been close to losing it from the moment Jim started, and now he was trying to think of algebra and dead kittens and income tax forms-somehow he was hoping that if he could last just a bit longer, Jim wouldn’t catch on to how starved he was for this.

Jim was making noises, and Oswald saw that he’d unzipped his own jeans and was jacking off. Oswald closed his eyes. He wished for a blindfold of his own. He grabbed Jim’s shoulders and gasped, and Jim was swallowing, as Oswald came hard into his throat. Oswald was still shaking when Jim stood up and pulled Oswald’s face towards his crotch. Jim held his cock a few inches from Oswald’s face, still jerking off, while he put the thumb of his other hand in Oswald’s mouth. He watched Oswald sucking his thumb, then his fingers, for a few more minutes; then he shoved himself into Oswald’s mouth as he got off. Oswald couldn’t breathe; he was swallowing desperately, holding onto Jim’s hips with his hands, but he was choking, and Jim held him in place until he almost passed out. Jim lifted Oswald to his feet, and licked his face clean where he’d made a mess; then kissed him roughly, full on. He pushed his tongue into Oswald’s mouth, not waiting for an invitation.

“You said you would be my slave. You forgot you said that, didn’t you? You’re ungrateful, Oswald. You’ve ignored me for months. You treat me like I’m nothing, like I’m nobody. You used me. You told me you would do anything for me, you liar.” Jim held Oswald, his body language at odds with his words. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to see me; I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I thought you despised me, I thought you wished I was dead. Just give me another chance.”

“That’s a good answer, Ron. But the real Oswald wouldn’t say that. He’d just laugh at me, tell me to go back to my miserable life and get over it.”

“How do you know, maybe you’re wrong about him. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Ron, you’re very naive. I like that about you. How long have you been in the business?”

“You’re my first customer.” Oswald hoped that would cover any mistakes he made.

“I wish I’d known, I would have gotten champagne. For now, let’s get you into that bedroom before you freeze to death. Go ahead, I’ll be in there shortly; the master bedroom is on the left. Oh, and Ron? I love the cane. Nice touch. You even sound a little like the real Oswald-not exactly, but a little. You’re great at this!”

“Maybe you should think about giving Oswald another chance, for real.”

“Ron, you’re obviously a very sweet person. But I assure you, wherever Oswald is, he’s enjoying his life to the fullest, and he’s not giving me a second thought.” Still wearing the blindfold, he turned his back to Oswald.

Oswald groaned inwardly as he limped towards the bedroom.


	3. With You, Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald gets some surprises.

Oswald lay down on the bed. Light filtered in, dimly, through the blinds; not enough to see clearly, but just enough to make everything dreamlike. For a moment, Oswald felt sad; he was here with Jim, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t himself, he was someone else, designed for a purpose; it was the story of his life.

In high school, he’d once let one of the athletes screw him. It served a purpose-the guy agreed to protect him from the other bullies. It wasn’t a happy memory-it hurt like hell, and there was no affection involved. The jerk had expected Oswald to thank him for it: “After all, it’s what guys like you want, isn’t it?” No, Oswald had thought, being made to feel dirty and used isn’t what anybody wants. 

Jim came in, snuggled up to Oswald’s back, and asked if he wanted a drink. “Whatever you’re having.” Oswald wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight he thought it might not be a bad idea. 

Jim came back from the living room with two Manhattans. “Are you all right with everything so far?” he asked.

Oswald was surprised by the question. “I’m fine. You...you’re very nice.”

“I want you to be glad you’re here with me.” Jim kept stroking and petting Oswald’s hair; like he couldn’t get enough of touching him.

“I thought it was my job to make you happy.”

“It’s no good unless you’re enjoying it, too.” Jim reached for something on the nightstand, which turned out to be massage oil. He told Oswald to lie down on his stomach, then started rubbing his shoulders. He took his time, working his way down Oswald’s back; massaging his arms, his hands; lingering on his neck and scalp. Oswald melted under Jim’s touch. It felt heavenly. It felt real.

He almost panicked when the thought occurred to him that Jim might massage his legs-his crippled leg would be impossible to hide, even in a darkened room, upon close examination. He sighed in relief when, after spending a luxurious amount of time kneading Oswald’s butt, Jim rolled him over and began working on his front. Jim straddled his thighs, and laid his hands on his collarbones. The mood began to change from relaxed to electric. Jim stroked his chest, his stomach; then leaned down and licked and sucked his nipples. Oswald ran his hands down Jim’s back; Jim kissed him, gently this time, teasingly, waiting for Oswald to respond. Oswald kissed him back, hungrily, and it was a while before they came up for air. They were laying side by side, both of them obviously ready for more. Jim was stroking Oswald’s erection, while rubbing his own cock against Oswald’s stomach. Jim kissed Oswald’s throat, then whispered, “Do you want me on my front, or on my back?”

Oswald, whose brain had gone offline again, murmured, without thinking: “For what?”

“For you, you tease. Don’t worry, I prepared.” It dawned on Oswald exactly what Jim meant. “And, there’s lube in the nightstand.” Oswald retrieved it. 

Jim was lying on his stomach. “This Ok?”

“Of course.” Like he would know if it wasn’t. Oswald kissed the side of Jim’s face. “Just let me know, if there’s anything different that you want me to do.” Oswald trailed his tongue down Jim’s back; pushed his legs apart, and spread his cheeks. He pressed his lips against Jim’s hole, and started licking; it would be trial and error, to see what Jim liked, and where. According to the appreciative noises Jim was making, there wasn’t much that Jim didn’t like. When he got as far as pushing his tongue into Jim, the response was “Oh, that’s so.....yes.” 

Oswald completely forgot about how weird the situation was, and how he was pretending to be his own impersonator. He was with Jim, and he touched Jim in the way that seemed most natural-with affection, and tenderness; with pleasure, at making Jim feel good. Jim wasn’t the only one enjoying what Oswald was doing; it was turning Oswald on, making him unbearably stiff. He kept on, and on, until Jim voiced the most delectable series of moans; and then he carefully applied the lube-to himself, and to Jim; and slid an exploratory finger in Jim’s bottom. He wanted to locate Jim’s prostate before he started; having done so, he pressed the head of his cock up against Jim’s entrance, and pushed, gently. 

Jim pushed back against him, not at all gently, and then Oswald was inside him.

Oswald Cobblepot, who had been fucked by the universe every day of his miserable life,   
finally felt wanted.

Nothing had ever felt this good; nothing. Not even close. Jim was warm, and tight- and eager. Oswald pulled back, and pushed again; harder, deeper. Together they arrived at a rhythm that drove both of them crazy. Jim wasn’t one to lie still and quietly moan into a pillow; he was loud (although largely unintelligible) and enthusiastically active. It seemed like there was no one in the universe except for the two of them, and they were joined in a circuit of energy that was expanding, becoming more intense even when it seemed that nothing more intense could exist. They changed positions; Jim was on his hands and knees, then he was on his back with his legs around Oswald’s waist.

How long they continued, Oswald didn’t know; but at some point, he was aware that he was hitting Jim’s sweet spot, over and over, Jim wailed “FUCK!” and tightened down on Oswald as he came; and Oswald exploded, inside Jim. There was an overload of sensation that threatened to make him pass out. He collapsed, panting, on Jim; slowly rolled off and then they held each other, close. Their arms were around each other and they were both shaking. Jim buried his face in Oswald’s neck, saying his name over and over. 

It took them a while to come down. Eventually, Jim kissed Oswald, and said: “Jesus, that was wonderful. I do have one question, though.”

“What’s that?”

Jim reached over and flipped on a lamp on the bedside table. “How much did you have to pay Blaine to get rid of him? Because I feel like I ought to split the cost with you.”

Oswald sat straight up. “WHAT! You knew –when did you know?”

“Blaine texted me the minute he was out of your sight. That the real Oswald had shown up and paid him to leave, and that my boyfriend was one mean looking motherfucker.”

“You knew the whole time! And you said all those awful things about me, knowing it was me!” Oswald was standing by the bed now, yelling at Jim, who was laughing.

“Naked and angry is a good look for you, but if you don’t get back under the covers you’re going to get chilled. And besides, you were pretty mean to ignore me all that time. You didn’t even call me when I got shot.”

“I had to call in every favor Falcone owed me to keep him from killing you!” 

“What?!?”

“Oh, I’ll explain later. I was frantic with worry, but I got the impression you wanted me to stay away. And anyway, I thought you had your gorgeous girlfriend to look after you.” Oswald sat on the side of the bed.

“Barbara? Oh jeeze, give me a break. She was so smashed for the next two weeks; she didn’t know her own name, or mine. I kept hoping you’d come see me.” Jim looked forlorn.

Oswald slid back under the blanket and hugged Jim. “I’m sorry, I really am. I had no idea you wanted to see me. I would have been there. I thought about you every day; I guess you thought about me, too- since you were renting escorts that looked like me.”

“Yeah, well. I know it’s pathetic. I was lonely, and depressed-spiraling downward. My whole life was a disaster, everything kept getting worse. It got to where I couldn’t spend one more night alone. Paying made me feel like I was in control of something. When the service asked me for a “type”, I described you without even thinking about it.”

“You could’ve had the real me, just for the asking.” 

“If only I’d known. I still can’t believe you went to all this trouble- to follow me down here, and then pay Blaine to leave. And by the way-I never did anything like what we did tonight, with an escort. All I did with them was some role-playing, and then I’d get a massage and a hand job. The intimate things we did-I wouldn’t do any of that; unless I was with someone I cared about.”

Oswald couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean- you want to keep seeing me? After we get back to Gotham?”

“Absolutely.” Jim pulled Oswald closer. “I hope that’s what you want, too.”

“More than anything.” Oswald kissed his lover lightly on the lips. “More than anything.”

They curled up together, and slept. That night they dreamed of nothing, except of each other.


End file.
